


Lasso (a Deleted Scene)

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Series: By a Thread, By a String, By a Rope [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Deleted Scene, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: A deleted scene from By a Thread, By a String, By a Rope.





	Lasso (a Deleted Scene)

**Author's Note:**

> So, going back through old drafts of things, I stumbled across this scene from an earlier version of By a Thread, By a String, By a Rope that more closely followed the movie’s sequence of events. In the actual story, Vasquez ventures into town to meet Faraday rather than Chisolm having to hustle Emma out to find him in the brush - this is one take on how things might have gone if he hadn’t taken the initiative to find Faraday first.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Pinche cabrón," Vasquez muttered, digging the heel of his hand into his side.

There was a hard shard of emotion stuck between his ribs. He stretched, trying to release some of the tension, and grimaced at the sore pull of muscle. It felt a little like the anger he'd grown used to over the past few weeks - his ligado's foul temper a constant slow burn in the back of his mind - but sharper, meaner, slipping in like a well-honed dagger.

Jealousy, maybe, though it was difficult to be sure. He was missing the lion's share of the context required to accurately parse the feeling out, as he had yet to meet the man. He was almost certain that his ligado _was_ a man, largely because he'd never known a woman who flared to rage on so fast a hair-trigger, nor one who consumed quite such unreasonable quantities of liquor. This was perhaps an unfair assessment, as there were undoubtedly plenty of women in the world who got just as mad and drank just as hard as the roughest of men, but somehow Vasquez was convinced, even so.

It happened, from time to time, two men together. Or two women. Most folk brought up in the church like Vasquez had been seemed to have a lot to say on the matter, none of it especially kind. Vasquez still wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, himself, beyond the unequivocal knowledge that his ligado was sorely lacking a tempering influence that he very clearly needed. Though he’d only experienced it at a distance thus far, if there was even a small chance Vasquez could act as a counterweight for his ligado’s volatile personality they might both be better off for it. Certainly it would be to the benefit of his own personal well-being, at least, if Vasquez was fated to spend the remainder of his years, sparse as they may wind up being, strung up alongside that temper.

"Your soul-mate?" Emma Cullen asked curiously from her spot crouched next to their meager fire, where she was tending to a small iron cookpot with minimal enthusiasm.

She had recovered nicely from being lassoed back at the dead man's cabin, pride restored after a few pointed barbs on her own behalf and a mostly sincere apology on Vasquez’s part. The soft manner of a pious farmer's wife was ill-fitting over her steely spine, but it was better than facing the full weight of her ire, which Vasquez suspected ran hot and very, very deep.

"Sí," he said grimly, rubbing at his side again. Whatever was happening, it had his ligado fairly well worked up, which wouldn't have been as much of a problem if his ligado hadn't felt things quite so deeply, so loudly.

"Have you met her?"

"Not yet," Vasquez shook his head and didn't bother to correct her assumption. People on the frontier tended to be looser in their interpretations of respectability, but Vasquez was carrying enough trouble of his own without borrowing any.

He'd felt his ligado over the last few weeks, ambling nearer at his own meandering pace, hesitating at times and projecting doubt so thick that it made Vasquez’s lungs tight, prowling back and forth across spans that kept him moving but didn't bring him any closer, like a mistrustful cat. Emma's mouth turned up at the corners, a wistful shadow of what might once have been a smile. She brushed absently at the black lace cuff around her wrist, an adornment for those in mourning, not yet ready to face the reality of their loss writ into their skin forever.

"What's she like?"

Vasquez glanced over at her, considering. He was surprised to note that Chisolm was watching them with polite interest from a distance away, as well - leaning against the tree they'd huddled under for shade so that he could see the horizon spread around them.

"Trouble, I think," Vasquez said, when he couldn't figure out a polite way to explain that his ligado spent most of his time oscillating wildly between being so drunk he could hardly stand and so mad he could hardly see. He was drunk now, or headed that way at least; that sharp, covetous anger licking at him so hard that Vasquez could feel the heat of it even across all this distance.

"Sounds like you two are perfect for each other," Chisolm said, sauntering casually back with his hands tucked into his pockets. 

"Es posible," Vasquez smirked. "Of the two of us, I think I live the quieter life."

Emma snorted a laugh and poked the long wooden spoon into the pot again.

"You ever think about going after her?"

"Once," Vasquez admitted, remembering the night his lazo had first appeared on his wrist. He'd woken alone in the woods in the small hours of morning, shaking and furious for no reason he could immediately identify, a pull in his belly urging him miles and miles back into the dark, toward unkind country he'd already fled. It was only later that he’d realized the anger that’d roused him had been of foreign provenance - presumably his ligado’s reaction at the surprise of finding himself thoroughly tied.

Vasquez wasn’t too proud to admit that most of his enthusiasm for venturing back in search of his ligado had evaporated in the wake of that fury. It was cowardly, maybe, but Vasquez had learned enough about playing his hand close to the vest in the months that followed his face being posted up over top of a handsome reward to be wary of traversing that pit of vipers, regardless of what boon may await him on the other side. Besides, he’d be damned if he bared that much of himself to these strangers. Chisolm, in particular, with that wanted poster folded neatly in the pocket of his vest.

Another sharp spine of emotion - jealousy, he was almost certain now -darted through him and he took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before gathering as much gentle calm as he could and pushing it out across the line. His ligado was very rarely receptive to his endeavors, bristling at Vasquez’s clumsy attempts to soothe him, but today he responded with a cool, slick wash of guilt, undercut with a slow-moving current of deeply grudging gratitude. He was not, Vasquez would venture, an incredibly gracious man.

"Why didn't you?" Emma pressed absently, most of her concentration on the cookpot.

She didn’t mean to be cruel - Vasquez was fairly certain he would know without a doubt if she ever crafted a phrase truly designed to cut him - but he bristled anyway, scowling and thinking of the weeks he'd spent lingering too long at campsites. Of the pitiable shame he’d shouldered, crawling into the dwelling of a dead man in the hopes that his ligado's slowly shrinking radius would catch up to him before someone like Chisolm did.

"I couldn't exactly walk into town," he snapped.

Emma startled at his tone and looked over at him with eyes full of pity. He felt his hackles rising even further. Chisolm must not have liked whatever response he saw in Vasquez’s face because he cocked his head and shot a warning glance from beneath the brim of his dark hat.

"Discúlpame," Vasquez snarled, climbing to his feet and stalking away, out from under the shadow of the tree. His stomach twisted with frustration and guilt. If his ligado noticed it at all, he didn’t respond in any way that Vasquez could measure.

He stalked toward the little creek off their makeshift campsite, wishing as he went that the current ran fast enough to drown out the voices at his back.

"I shouldn't have asked. That was unkind," Emma murmured, a husky, admonishing whisper across the shifting grass.

Vasquez didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing. He ducked for a moment to gather a stone, tossing it a few times to measure its weight, and tried not to be disappointed when it hit the surface of the water, too soft to catch it, and sank ignobly into the burbling depths.

Chisolm made a small, noncommittal noise and Emma sighed, adding morosely, "I think I'm burning this."

Miles and miles away, his ligado’s presence pulled, sharp and mean and venturing slowly closer.

**Author's Note:**

> To those waiting for By a Thread, By a String, By a Rope updates, they’re coming. I’m working on the next chapter, and on an original novel that adopts aspects of the lover’s noose concept, which could be exciting if I manage to finish it within the next few months like I hope to, and I deeply appreciate your patience and support in this endeavor of mine in the meantime. Y’all are the best! <333


End file.
